


Prank Here, Prank There, Prank Everywhere

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Competitive Jensen, Competitive Misha, Established Relationship, Flirting, Frottage, Humor, M/M, Misha's famous sailor mouth, Oblivious Jared, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Sexual Humor, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 23:21:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6587191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misha's just minding his own business (for once), when the Gods of all things unholy and ill-advised (which should be him casting that stone, thank you very much) strike upon him:</p><p>"Jensen, I swear on my children's children if I just saw what I think I saw, I will release your nudes to the public under the username DadsensDongs."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prank Here, Prank There, Prank Everywhere

 

Misha's just minding his own business (for once), when the Gods of all things unholy and ill-advised (which should be him casting that stone, thank you very much) strike upon him:

"Jensen, I swear on my children's children if I just saw what I think I saw, I will release your nudes to the public under the username DadsensDongs."

"Damn," Jensen grumbles, completely ignoring his lover in favor of bouncing on the cushion supporting his perky, denim-clad ass and fiddling yet again with his iPhone, "the flash was supposed to be off."

"Serves you right, Mr. Technose Intolerant."

Jensen looks back now, fluttering his eyelashes not fast enough to rival a hummingbird, but with the right amount of seduction to add a dollop of Daisy's Sour Cream to Misha's pants. Asshole. "Aww," he coos, pouting his lips, "What’s the matter, Mish? Don't like pictures?"

Misha paws his head away. "Please, you're a far cry from a real actor."

"You're right, I'm sorry," Jensen admits, swiveling around to straddle Misha with those ridiculous bowlegs. He settles close to his hardness, hand slipping beneath the cushion to loot Misha’s sack of gold. Misha’s so close already, and that one more slow, downward grind from Jensen just—"Say cheese!"

"YOU MOTHERFUCKER!" Misha cries. He tries to snatch the phone away with literally every bone in his body, but all his weight just transfers onto Jensen's front. "You motherfucker, you fatherfucker, you brotherfucker, you _cousin_ fucker—!"

"Cousinfucker? Now that's just wrong." Jensen goes back to his phone, a small " _heh_ " escaping his wide lips as he asks, "What should I tag this one on Twitter? Think it's a good time to Photoshop that 'I Am Coming' pic?"

"Are you kidding? It's too easy."

"Good point. But I'm also half-entitled to say, 'That's not what you said last night.'"

Before Misha can let his arousal decide on what's most _definitely_ the wrong decision, he jumps up from the couch. "No, I'm not doing this with you. You better sleep with one conniving eye open, Jackles, because I _will_ get you back. In a train, in a tree, in a box, with a fox, with a mouse, in a house, here or there, fucking _anywhere_.”

“Wow,” Jensen whistles, eyeing him with the tantalizing lick of his lip. “I dunno what you were trying to accomplish just there, but Daddy Misha is my new favorite Misha.”

Misha rolls his eyes and flies out the door in an instant. “Bye!”

“Mish...”

“Yeah?”

“This is your trailer.”

Misha jogs back up the steps to the entryway not a moment later, triumphantly scoffing, “Damn fucking right it’s my trailer, now get on my fucking bed before I forget I have that too.”

***

If anyone asks, Jensen’s just minding his own business when he and Mish are rehearsing for their next scene.

They’re in Jensen’s trailer this time, lounging on his couch like two dogs in the dead of summer, doing a cold run-through of one of Dean’s bigger parts. Jensen has his legs thrown over the lumpy arm of the sofa, the striated pattern leaving trajectories to nowhere on his bare thighs. Misha has his back taped to Jensen’s, long, tanned legs crossed Indian-style and script held much higher up, showing off his heightened biceps and arms.

Jensen rubs his eyes and tries to see through the bleariness. _12:03._ He can’t recall if that’s a.m. or p.m.

He swears he hears Misha’s voice, but it could just be the devil on his shoulder encouraging the act of sloth: “Jensen. Jensen?”

“Hmm?”

“We don’t have to keep going,” Misha says, angling his head to rest awkwardly on Jensen’s shoulder. “Dani told me you’ve had trouble getting JJ to bed. You don’t have to try to play through the pain.”

Jensen blinks once, twice, three times, like the weariness is just going to slip out from underneath his eyelids. (It doesn’t.) “I know I just want to get this right.”

“And you will,” Misha promises. “Just not tonight.”

“One more time?”

He feels Misha’s lips stretch against his shoulder before he drops a kiss there. “One more time,” he laughs with a small sniffle. Jensen props his script on his lap again. The words look like burnt alphabet soup, but it’s nothing his reading glasses can’t fix. Yeah, see that’s— _woah,_ okay, that doesn’t help. He may be old, but he’s not _that_ old. “Jen?”

“Hmm?” asks Jensen, craning his head a little. “Oh my _fucking—”_

Misha preens, turning around and showing him not one, but two photos of he and Jensen. Misha looks like the fucking energizer bunny beating his drum a little too hard and Jensen…

Yeah, maybe it’s time for bed.

“Oh, it’s _on,_ Mish.”

“‘In a train, in a tree, in a box, with a fox, with a mouse, in a house, here or there—’”

“Anywhere,” Jensen finishes, pulling himself off the sofa with a “ _humph_ ”, “just not in my bed.”

“Unless it’s me?”

Jensen chuckles somewhere in the back of his throat and leans into Misha’s ear, “You wish.”

***

The prank war rages on like… well, pretty much any war in history, come to think of it.

Misha got Jensen pretty good over the top of a bathroom stall (“ _Mish_? _Oh my_ **God,** _isn’t that_ illegal _?!”),_ and Jensen got him back while filming a scene by reaching for Dean’s “ID” in his coat pocket to show Cas and whipping out his iPhone instead. (“ _Even for you, that’s a new low, Jackles.”)_

“We have to come to a compromise,” Jensen says one day during a break, causing Misha to arc a brow.

“Excuse me, when are you one to back down from a prank war?”

“I don’t know, maybe when I open my underwear drawer and a flash goes off!”

Misha bares a gummy smile and crosses his arms. “So I win.”

“No! No way!” Jensen barks, “I never said—”

“Hey guys, what’s up?”

Jensen and Misha turn to the sight of Jared, slightly sticking to his Sam clothes and whatever hairspray the girls dabble with like witchcraft, and that’s when it hits them:

“Hey Jar,” Misha says, throwing an arm around him, “what say you about rehearsing at my place tonight?”

Jensen grins wickedly watching the two walk away. “Oh, it’s _so_ on.”


End file.
